


When I Kiss the Devil

by CinderSpark



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: AU, Assassins & Hitmen, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderSpark/pseuds/CinderSpark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignacio didn’t know how it had gone to Hell so fast, only that he was trying to outrun the Devil. He wasn't afraid; he could not recall  the last time terror had snared its icy fingers through his heart. It was exhilaration that pranced through his blood, as hot as cinders and more addicting than any narcotic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

“I am not here to take, I am here to conquer,” ~ Ignacio Varga

“All it takes is one bad day,” ~ The Joker

* * *

   

     Ignacio didn’t know how it had gone to Hell so fast, only that he was trying to outrun the Devil. He wasn't afraid; he could not recall the last time terror had snared its icy fingers through his heart. It was exhilaration that pranced through his blood, as hot as cinders and more addicting than any narcotic. The scent of blood was heavy, heady in his nose and he wasn't sure if it was his or someone's gore that had soaked into into his cloths. All he could feel was his heart thrumming in his chest. He was a primal predator.

     A monster among vapid, insipid sheep.

     He barely flinched as a bullet blazed by his head passing so close he felt its heat burn against the flesh of his neck. It was the wanton fiery kiss of Azrael, ready to take him to the abyss. To drag him down to that infernal pit; because God and all his archangels knew he deserved to be there suffering with the rest of of his Fallen brethren. Over the past half decade his hands had become smeared with blood, his lips stained with sin and wherever he went Death was always a few paces behind him. He gleaned a new name among those assassins who lurked in the shadows, who felt so at home in the welcome embrace of night. He was feared, a stuttered curse whispered in the dark, more demon than man.  
     

     Oh, how he reveled in it. Could see how it could drive a man to madness, to cruelty, maybe that was what happened to Tuco. Why he was so fucked up on cocaine all the time because that reality, the one shrouded in dust that fell from the heels of the White Lady was more sane than this one.  
He had passed judgement on his fellow man and had found many of them wanting for the grave, so he had granted them that desire. It didn’t matter how much power they wielded, how many men they reigned over, how much wealth they had at their disposal, he always managed to kill them. He found that darkness and not death was the great equalizer. Those men who had long lived by the sword were finding the same blade pressed against their throats.

     He veered sharply to the right and risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The night sky had been transformed into an inferno, and he could taste ash on his tongue. The muzzle of a 1911 flared against the dark and he grunted as the molten metal of the bullet struck him in shoulder. The force of the blow spun him around but he managed to keep his feet ignoring the scream of triumph that trailed after him.

     He could smell the ocean now and hear the sound of the sea as it swelled and crashed against the rocks far below him. He could see the ledge of the cliff, a ribbon of onyx against the fiery chaos of the night as the heavens burned behind him. He didn't slow his pace and he felt his pulse quicken with excitement. Perhaps he was mad, finally claimed by the insanity he had spent so long trying to avoid. Without a second thought he flung himself over the edge, his body arching out over the water. He shut his eyes at the sheer bliss it caused, at the freedom he felt and as he fell he heard his lover's voice whisper against the roar of the sea.

     “It was a leap of faith Ignacio,”


	2. Memories and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignacio I want to see you tomorrow, alone.”
> 
> Soft words, spoken with all quiet intensity of a knife sliding across the flesh of his throat.

     “ Ignacio I want to see you tomorrow, alone.”

     Soft words, spoken with all quiet intensity of a knife sliding across the flesh of his throat. For a moment the world stopped, balanced on the edge of an abyss of uncertainty, then rushed back up from the darkness to slam into his chest. It had lasted for a fraction of a second, the span of a breath, the skip of his heart beat. He had almost let Hector's espresso slide off its saucer, but composed himself and clenched his jaw against the tremor that danced down his spine on graveyard feet.

     He gently placed the coffee in front of his patriarch, slightly inclined his head in acknowledgement before retreating to his usual seat, keeping vigil over the various patrons that came to speak with the auspicious capo. He automatically went through the the tedious motions of checking for concealed weapons, hidden wires, and counting sums of money. But his mind was far from the tasks at hand. More than the fear galloping through his veins,more than the mindless terror, was an undercurrent of rage.

     He had long ago grown weary of being an impromptu Lugarteniente to Tuco, and a quiet fury had been building within him, outraged that that he carried the title without any of its distinguish. Hector's special way of mocking him, of keeping the leash around his neck tight. Being the insane drug lords console was a task ripped straight from the bowels of Hell. He was becoming weary of scorching his hands on Tuco’s rage, of cleaning up the trail of corpses he left in his cocaine fueled wake; while all the while checking over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t receive a bullet in the back of his skull simply because of some imagined slight.

     The slivers of bone beneath buried beneath his flesh were a constant reminder of how rabid Tuco could become in the time it took him to drawn breath. For one insane moment Ignacio considered leaving, slipping away into the primal wilderness of his homeland. But immediately halted that train of thought. He knew that no matter how far or fast he fled Hector would drag him back, broken and bloody to be tortured. And he was more than certain that when the Cartel Lord was finished with him his final act of punishment would be to toss what was left him to his insane nephew to devour.

     It was then that a memory suddenly rose up unbidden to the forefront of his mind. But if he were honest it was always there, a constant specter lurking on the peripheral of his consciousness. And it always felt that it had happened moments ago when in reality almost a decade had passed since he had been left in that moldering charnel house as punishment for his pompousness.  
It had happened during the brief phase when his unfeigned adolescence was fading and he had been on the cusp of becoming a man; already well integrated within the ranks of Hector’s organization. A place he had earned by viciously clawing his way to the top with untethered ferocity. He had been bold, intrepid and uncaring for the facade laws and the threat of punishment that held so many of fellow gangsters in check. After all, the police and society with its ludicrous statutes of retribution were only an complication if he were caught, something that he never anticipated happening.

     Besides he never sullied his hands unless it was necessary. Tasks he found too tiresome, or boring he thrust upon others to complete. Getting other men to do what he wanted was a simple chore. A skill that he had honed to a fine edge years prior, he used his intelligence to manipulate his fellow gangsters, wielded them like custom forged weapons to strengthen his own status.

     How witless he had been to not realize what a horrendous mistake he was making when he began pulling Tucos strings to influence his own calibur. Within a few short years he was counted among the most ruthless of Hector’s enforcers. He became arrogant, bestial, and at times his behavior bordered on downright insolence. He began ignoring Lugarteniente commands that been specifically ordered by Hector, commandeering money whenever he pleased, killing whoever he wanted, all the while whispering lies threaded with half truths in Tuco’s ear. He could unhinge the other man with a single gesture, delighted in watching his waltz of madness, his blossoming psychopathic ego taking pleasure in the stark awareness that he had crafted Tuco into his own personal marionette.

     And these feelings of grandeur only were only heightened when he had received news that Hector wanted him as a part of the upper hierarchy. Drunk on his own hubris, his senses dulled with his newly aquired taste for power he never realized how odd it seemed to have such a prominent kingpin embrace him as though as they shared anything less than blood ties.

     He willingly went to Hector like a lamb to the slavering jaws of a wolf. He took no weapon, went without any hesitation and it was a mistake that he would regret his every waking moment, and one that he would never repeat as long as he drew breath.  
He had arrived with the waning darkness of sunset at El Griego Guiñador and found Hector waiting for him in an old beat up Jeep that looked as though it had been resurrected from the jungles of Viet Nam.

The older man had taken him far into the desert that night.

     The lights of the city evaporated leaving only behind the glimmering sparks of stars. They wove along abandoned roads so unattended and conquered by nature that Nacho’s bones began to ache from the constant jostling of the chassis.

  
     Sometime during their transit he had dozed off, Hector offering little in the way of conversation. When he awoke the cinder fingers of dawn had just brushed the sky and for the first time in a long while Ignacio watching the fiery thread of the sun touch the horizon and burn away the darkness.  
He had realized that sometime during the night they had stopped at the edge of an escarpment and that Hector’s side of the Jeep was vacant. For a moment he thought that he had been left alone but soon spotted Hector’s silhouette against the garnet sky. As quietly as he could he opened the door to the Jeep wincing as the rusted hinges ground loud together and stepped out into the chill of the morning.

     Not wanting to disturb Hector any more than necessary he left the door open and went to stand beside the older man casting his gaze across the canyon sprawled before them. Jagged rock formations pierced the heavens like fragments bones of some forgotten Titan. But in the oncoming dawn their color had been stained an intense scarlet so that they looked smeared with blood.  
That macabre thought made Ignacio realize where he had been taken. Waupecony, the true meaning escaped him but he knew it was an ancient place sacred to the Jircarilla Apache a tribe that Hector boasted shared his blood. He glanced to his side as the older man as he began to speak.

     “Light and the fire that it casts is such an arrogantly volatile thing Ignacio. It thinks that it is fast, that it destroys the darkness. But it is wrong, do you know why?”

     Ignacio shifted from one foot to the other. Was this some type of assessment? His mind flicked from one answer to the next and he was contemplative for a few moments before he answered.

     “Because all light eventually fades, in its destruction it burns away the very source that gives it life. So the darkness is eventually the conqueror”

     Hector titled his head back and cackled his eyes crinkling in mirth.

     “A good answer Ignacio, a smart answer, even if it is wrong,”

     Against his will the younger male felt an embarrassed blush creep across his face, his response was soft.

     “What is the right answer?”

     Hector turned to him and in a movement that was terrifying if not elegant in its speed he seized Ignacio by the throat. He violently swiveled him around so that the soles of his boots were balanced on the ledge and his body was hanging out over vacant space. Ignacio inhaled sharply through his nose his hands automatically grasping Hector’s forearm his eyes suddenly wild with terror. The older man was gently smiling at him the grip on his neck surprisingly strong.

     “I like you Ignacio, really I do. You’re smart, cunning, men follow you without even realizing it, even my nephew does what you say. You’re a true leader,”

     He tightened his hold taking a moment of brief satisfaction as the cartilage beneath Ignacio’s flesh shifted beneath his fingers and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

     “And as one leader to another you must think that I am fucking stupid to not realize that I know exactly what you are doing,”

     Ignacio opened his mouth to answer but received a warning squeeze from Hector.

     “This is the part where you keep your silence Ignacio and I want you to listen very carefully.”

     Hector slightly cocked his head and regarded the younger man for a few seconds. For one horrifying moment Ignacio thought that he was going to drop him but instead Hector’s voice lost its deadly edge.

     “Light will always lose because no matter how nimble or quick it believes itself to be, it will always find that darkness has gotten there first and will be waiting for it. And that is what you are Ignacio, a spark, a lick of flame who has dared think that it is faster than the darkness.”

     He suddenly jerked Nacho forward invading the others personal space and Ignacio caught the flare of madness that raged through Tuco’s blood glint in Hector’s obsidian eyes.

     “I am the darkness Ignacio, you will come crawling back to me on your knees, and if you ever try and cross me again I will devour you,”

     Then he released him, almost casually placed his hand on Ignacio’s chest, felt the others rapid heartbeat and shoved him backwards. He savored the look of pure shock etched across the arrogant little fucks face as he fell from view. It surprised him that that Nacho hadn’t screamed most of the men he usually pushed over the ledge did but he supposed Ignacio was different, and that made him smile.

     He went around to the passenger's side of the Jeep and dug around in the glovebox until he found a flashlight he clicked it on than off a couple of times to make sure it worked before going back to the precipice.  
He flicked the light on then tossed it down into the darkness watching the spark of light pinwheel down into shadows.

     He turned and went back to Jeep.

     As he climbed in Ignacio’s scream, the first of many drifted to his ears.


	3. Dancing with the Devil

“The land of mother-fucking-opportunity where a lying, cheating, degenerate like myself can prosper.”~ Ignacio

* * *

 

     Ignacio leaned against the back of his van gazing out over the hazy lights of the city down below him, a king’s ransom strewn across the darkness of the night. He had sought solace in downtown Albuquerque in an abandoned parking garage. It was a place that he could be alone with his thoughts and allowed him respite from his personal hell of being Tuco's handler. He allowed himself to let down his guard a notch when he was here and he could actually think outside the bounds of being nothing more than a thug to Hector, he could be himself. 

    After a few moments of relishing in his solitude he fished around in his pocket and pulled out a silver case inscribed with his initials and a symbol his father had vaguely hinted was of some sort of religious significance. It had been a birthday present and not meant to hold cigarettes or matches, those were a guilty pleasure, one left over from the rebellion of his childhood. He flicked open the box and brought it to his nose inhaling the sweet smell of tobacco, parchment, ink and aged vanilla. He prefered hand rolling his cigarettes to actually buying them and often wrote things along their curved edges. It was therapeutic inhaling his fears, sins, worries, watching them burn with his breath and turn to ash. A match flared in the darkness along with the smell of sulfur, and he cupped his hand against the flame coaxing the end of his cigarette to life. He inhaled deeply enjoying the scorching sting of nicotine as smoke filled his lungs. He left it to settle there for a moment, waited like he had taken a hit from a blunt, felt his heart slow before exhaling through his nose. He rolled his head back trying to the loosen the tension that had wound through his muscles like threads of steel.

     The cash from the recent drug trade felt as heavy as thirty pieces of silver in his pocket and he allowed his thoughts drifted the cigarette smoke. He had been distracted since he had taken his leave from El Griego Guiñador and Hector. He had even left the city for a few hours to sit in the heat of the desert to pontificate his next move. But it had been for nothing the chilling reality was that if Hector had decided it was time to cease the little game he had been playing with him for the past decade there wasn't much that he could really do about it.

     In the end he went about his tasks as usual, deciding it was best to feign innocence and to give the old fucker a false sense of security. After all, Hector had no reason to be suspicious of him, Nacho had made sure to appear as docile as a whipped dog over the years. But while sitting in his van, sweat rolling from his forehead and into his eyes he had come to the conclusion that if he was being lured to his death then he was going to drag as many men to hell with him as possible. The thought alone had made a feral smile creep across his features, he was going to paint the inside of El Griego with both his and Hector’s blood. And if it came to it, as a final act of spite he would kill himself just to steal away the satisfaction from the older man.

     A sudden whip-crack of lightning shook him from his thoughts, the air was heavy with ozone, and in the distance he could hear the rumble of thunder, the footsteps of Gods in the desert.

     “Stealing from the Salamancas Ignacio,very foolish, if not enterprising,”

     He had his gun in his hand before the echo of the last syllable had faded into the gloom. Thunder murmured in the dark, and he felt his pulse quicken. His mind skittered to a halt, there was no way anyone could have found him here, he had been so fucking careful.

     His eyes scanned the gloom,

    _‘I won't have to wait to die, someone else is going to take care of that for me. What a selfish fucker denying me my vengeance.’_

     He actually laughed around his terror, the irony was just too hilarious.

     A splinter of darkness detached itself from the night and Ignacio almost swallowed his cigarette. The man had been so _still_ ,

      _‘How fucking long has he been there?’_

     Then another thought rose in his mind like a corpse from the grave.

      _‘He knows my fucking name, that I have been stealing money, this isn’t the first time he has come here, this isn’t the first time he has watched me,’_

     His finger twitched around the trigger, as a tall figure came into view. He walked with the rain, the roar of the storm followed him. He wore the shadows like a second skin, and his step was predatory grace, all swagger without the arrogance. Despite himself Ignacio felt a pang of jealousy at the others finesse. The stranger didn’t stop until the barrel of the 1911 Ignacio was holding was pressed against his chest and Nacho could feel his steady heartbeat thrumming through the metal and into his fingers.

     In the faint light Ignacio saw his unwanted companion was dressed in hues befitting those of an assassin. But the cut and style of his clothing was strange, almost old fashioned, suited better for a mobster under the servitude of the Peaky Blinders spilling blood across the time worn cobblestones of London in 1930’s than a gangster in New Mexico. Nacho glanced down at the others hands almost expecting him to be clutching a walkingstick. Again, lightning flickered chasing the shadows away and Ignacio caught a glimpse of an archangels features, aristocratic and cruel in a wolven way.

     But it was his eyes that caused Nacho to take an unconscious step backwards. They were startling, something that would cause the superstitious to murmur to saints and run their fingers over rosaries. One was the shade of obsidian and so dark that it had seemed to swallow the fire of the lightning strike. The other was the color of a bright rainwashed summer day, so blue that it was almost white. He wore a smirk as easily as the shadows and Nacho found it infuriating. And then he was suddenly fully in front of him, so close that Nacho got a full look at those eerie eyes and could smell his cologne; a combination of rain, incense, and silver. He reacted more of instinct than any actual skill, the others frightening speed throwing him off balance.

     He struck out the with butt gun not hoping to inflict any actual damage but wanting more to put some distance between them so he could squeeze off a shot. But the stranger didn't allow any space between them, he followed in Ignacio’s footsteps not so much as dodging as swaying out of the way of the others attack. Nacho suddenly found both his wrists caught in a steely grip, and mercilessly yanked forward he so that he staggered into the stranger. The 1911 was viciously yanked above his head and a calloused hand settled over his own, rough fingers curling around the handle to rest behind the trigger.

     Nacho bit back the undignified cry that rose from his throat as he felt the others knee slide between his thighs to settle at his groin purposely keeping him off kilter.The man’s other hand came to rest between his buttocks and thigh hiking his leg up so that it rested against his hip.The end result was that he was more entwined than restrained. It was an oddly sensual stance and he was pressed so close that he could feel the other man's gun dig into the flesh of his ribs.

     Against his will he felt a blush rise from his neck to heat his face. Soft lips curled into a smile against the pulse of his neck,

    “I could tear your throat out; save Hector some money and trouble,”

     Smokey words spoken as a threat but carried none of its promise. Ignacio felt a thrill spiral down his spine, something that he quickley dismissed as a moment of madness.

     He huffed out a breath through his nose,

     “What’s stopping you then?”

     A sentiment spoken through tight jaws, calling the others bluff. A gentle laugh tickled his flesh then in a quick movement he felt teeth settle his skin and lightly bite him. The suddenness and intimacy of the action caused Ignacio to jump in surprise and a soft curse hissed between his clenched teeth. Then he was released and the stranger took an elegant step back giving him some space; though not enough to effectively to let fly any bullets.

     Ignacio stood there trembling for a few moments from a combination of adrenaline and loss of heat.

     While the other stood there regarding him, his stance neither threatening nor companionable. Silence spun between them broken by the thrum of the storm. Nacho drew in a few deep breaths through his nose to steady his heart and his nerves, his eyes wandering over the silhouette before him now all too aware that he was armed with at least a gun.

     Once he was sure that stranger didn’t intend any harm, at least for the moment, he holstered his weapon.

     “It seems you know who I am but I don’t know who you are?”

     The question sounded absurd even as he spoke it, why the fuck did he care what this pendejo cabrons name was?

     The man rocked back on his heels his hands clenched behind his back that infuriating smile still on his face.

     “I know far more than your name Ignacio,”

     He paused his voice becoming laced with amusement,

     “Or should I say, Nacho.”

     Nacho felt a soft growl rise in his throat an action that earned him a chuckle, the man before him stayed silent for a moment. Those strange eyes tracing over Ignacio’s figure, lingering on his lips before flicking up to look him in the eye,

     “It’s Jericho Morningstar,”

     Ignacio raised an eyebrow not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his voice, his tone bordering incredulous,

     “Jericho Morningstar…..is that your street name?”

     Jericho let out a bark of laughter and flashed him a devil's grin, he spun on the balls of his feet, his coat flaring out behind him gesturing to the heavens with a sweeping motion of his hands,

     “Handed down from the heavens actually,”

    “Impressive,”

     A low chuckle and Jerichos tone suddenly turned serious, and he once again invaded the others space. Nacho became very aware that Jericho was taller than he was and those eyes, so strange that they captivated him boring into him plucking at the very threads of  his soul

     “Oh, you have no idea Ignacio.”

     Nacho didn’t back down staying still when Jericho stepped even closer so that he was almost leaning against him.

      _He smells like the inside of a cathedral._

     The thought pirouetted across his mind with all the grace of a stumbling drunk. Jericho leaned down and tilted his head so that his mouth was against the shell of Nacho's ear,

     “It was a name earned through slitting throats and stealing souls from broken bodies. But you would know all about attaining titles wouldn’t you _Lugarteniente Ignacio_?”

     The softly spoken sentence snapped Nacho out of his revery of the other man. His temper shook itself awake and bared its teeth. A snarl escaped his lips and he shoved the other away his voice seething, ringing with a bitter hate that he had not unleashed for a long a time. All the fear and rage that had pent up within all the decades of being Hector's little toy finally unleashed itself in a tide of fury. Nacho felt it closing around his throat, choking him, drowning his senses but he didn't care, he welcomed the feeling,

     “What would you know of _titles_? You skulk in the shadows, spying, watching like a common thief, a coward, you may hold the name of Satanas but you bear none of his intimidation,”

     Ignacio took a step closer to him, disregarding caution, at the moment Jericho could have had a loaded gun pressed to the center of his forehead and he wouldn’t have given a flying fuck. His fingers curled into fists at his sides and world narrowed, focused only on the man in front of him.

     “Everything I have done, everything I _do_  is for the the betterment of my family, of my father so he could escape the squalor he and my mother were fleeing from when they came to this country. The land of mother-fucking-opportunity where a lying, cheating, degenerate like myself can prosper….”

     He trailed off when Jericho started laughing, his mirth evident in his voice, glee sparkingling in his bizarre eyes.

     “Yes! Yes! Show me that anger! That wrath I know that simmers just beneath that frigid facade of yours.”

     He reached out and grabbed the startled gangster by the his clenched hands dragging him around in a waltzing circle almost howling in his amusement,

     “I thought Hector has broken you, taken away that spark of fire. But it’s still there!”

     He drew Ignacio into a fierce embrace burying his face in the crook of his neck his words muffled but still audible.

    “We have waited so long to find you.”


End file.
